The Way of the Beast
by Obake
Summary: Chaos is unleashed in the darkness, and an enemy's trust will draw Harry to the centre.
1. Default Chapter

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Summary: Chaos is unleashed in the darkness, and an enemy's trust will draw Harry to the centre.

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Rating: R

Warnings: Violence, coarse language, slash (being male/male romantic pairings). That's it, as far as I know.

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Disclaimer: To all lawyers, Warner Brothers employees, J. K. Rowling and anyone else who may choose to get offended about this borrowing of characters and setting: I am well aware they aren't mine. They're quite belligerent about that, to be honest. Nor will they show me how to play poker, or let me make any money from selling their…stories. Yes…

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Feedback: Welcome: All and sundry. Unwelcome: *crickets chirrup* *Draco swats crickets*

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Other: Firstly, sorry there's been so little activity around here lately; Year Twelve does that to a person, apparently. All Torn Down will be updated in a day or two. This story is being written in between, and All Torn Down will always have priority so while the chapters are short, the updates will probably be slow.

In other news: Draco's mind is completely warped in this story. He has good reasons.

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The Way of the Beast: Escape

'_There are many Sorrows in heaven, waiting to be sent to us as Angels…_'

—_The Glory Days, _Isobelle Carmody.

_Thud_.

Harry's eyelids flickered open, and he tensed. The room around him was shrouded in darkness, and he suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable, though he knew his wand lay safe on a table a few feet away. The clawing blackness brought back unwelcome memories of the cupboard under the stairs.

Someone else was in the room; he could hear them breathing. His fingers curled in the folds of his bedclothes as he tried to gauge where they were, and whether he could reach his wand before they stopped him. 'Who's there?'

There was a scraping sound, as though the person was trying to slide towards him. 'Harry?'

Harry sat up. '_Malfoy_? What are you doing in here?'

'Can I stay?'

Harry jumped; Malfoy was much nearer to him than he had thought. Before he could reply, he felt the sheets being lifted and a warm body settling beside his. 'What the hell do you think you're—'

He froze as a pair of arms encircled him. Malfoy buried his head in Harry's chest. 'I'm all fucked up,' he whispered, his voice thick and ragged.

Harry realised Draco was shaking against him. 'Gods, what's wrong?'

Malfoy choked. 'Help me. Help me please, someone, help, I-I'm so, so...I...oh, shit. Oh God, Harry, please, help me...'

'What's happened?' Harry reached for his wand. 'Tell me what's happened..._lumos._'

As the wand shed light across the room, Draco burrowed in closer to Harry, trying to hide his face. Harry felt a dampness seep through his pyjamas where Malfoy's face was pressed against his chest and for a second his mind stilled in shock. _Is he crying?_

'Look at me. Draco, look at me.' Malfoy refused to move. Harry gave an exasperated snort and took hold of his chin, yanking Draco's head up until their eyes met. '_Look_—'

Draco's face looked like a battlefield. Purpled bruises covered its surface, swelling in some areas and in others crossed by savage lacerations. It looked as though someone had tried his utmost to break a bone—whether it be his jaw or his skull seemed irrelevant. Somewhere in the middle of it all, the usual cool steel of his eyes was a tempest of fear and shame.

Harry began to breathe again. 'Oh, gods...' Malfoy hadn't been crying. Blood from some of the cuts had smeared on Harry's pyjamas, but there were no tears to blur the storm in those eyes. 'Why did you come here? You need the Hospital Wing.'

'No!' A spasm juddered through Malfoy's body. Harry gasped, feeling nails dig into his sides like claws as Draco clung to him. 'No, no, no. Not there, not there...'

'Ssh, ssh,' Harry murmured, feeling like a mother trying to comfort a nightmare-ridden child. He peeled Draco's hands away from him as gently as he could. 'You're not making any sense. You need someone to look at this, now come on.' He sat up, taking Draco's weight with him. 'I'll take you there.'

'No...'

'Stop being such a child. I'll carry you if I have to.'

Malfoy cringed back, shaking his head stubbornly. Harry sighed. 'I'd have thought humiliation would get through to you of all people.'

He lifted Draco easily. Harry wasn't sure what was more unexpected: the sheer lightness of the boy, or his lack of resistance. He glanced down at Draco's eyes, into which a little reproach and resignation had seeped. 'Where have you been the past week? Who did this to you?'

Draco remained silent. Harry rolled his eyes and carried him away.

*

'Coming, I'm coming!' Harry stopped kicking at the Hospital Wing door as it swung open to reveal an irate Madam Pomfrey, menacing in a thick pink nightgown. 'What—' Her expression melted when she saw who Harry was holding. She held out her arms. 'Give him to me.'

Harry did so, and followed her into the Wing.

'Where did you find him?' Pomfrey asked, laying Draco out on a bed. At some point on the way to the Wing, Draco had fallen asleep. Harry stared, horrified, at his emaciated form. His robes were torn and stained with dirt among other things, and what was visible of his body was no better than his face. Harry shuddered.

'Potter?'

He started. 'Sorry?'

'Where was he?'

'He'd gotten into my room, I don't know how. And he—he was like that, only,' Harry's eye strayed again to the inert body on the bed. 'Only I didn't see, before...'

'Do you want to stay here for the night?'

Harry rubbed at his eyes. 'No, I'm fine. I just need to get back, and, and…'

'Mmm,' the matron said, eyeing the blood smeared on Harry's pyjama top. 'You're fine.'

He looked down. 'Oh. That's his, not mine.'

'Show me.' Harry unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the unbroken skin of his chest. Her eyes flicked to his side. 'What's that?' Madam Pomfrey pulled the shirt aside to inspect a row of gashes in his sides.

'Hmm? Oh, that. He didn't want to come here; I guess that was his way of showing it.'

'He was holding onto you?'

'Like a cat holds onto a tree when there's a dog around,' Harry murmured, yawning. 'I hadn't realised he'd broken the skin, though.' he began to button the shirt again.

'I think you should stay here.'

'No, it's all right, really. I just need to go back and get some rest...'

Pomfrey smiled and nodded understandingly as he spoke, all the while guiding him to another bed. She pulled back the sheets and pushed Harry onto the mattress. 'Rest then,' she said, tucking him in.

'But—'

'Ssh.' She ran a gentle hand over his face, closing his eyes. There must have been a little magic in that touch, because Harry fell asleep a few minutes later.

*

When Harry woke, Pomfrey had gone. Daylight, soft and warm, shafted through an unshuttered window across the room. He sat up.

Draco was still lost to the world. His face, still mottled with colour, wasn't as grisly a sight as it had appeared last night. There were several patches and bandages covering his skin; Madam Pomfrey had been hard at work.

Harry slid out from between the sheets and crossed the floor to the other boy's bed. Draco's robe had been stripped from him, and now he lay in a crisp hospital gown. Even asleep, a trace of the fear Harry had seen the night before was perceptible.

'Trust you to look so vulnerable when you're asleep,' Harry muttered. He looked up at the creak of a door.

'Morning,' Madam Pomfrey said.

'Morning. How is he?'

'He'll heal,' she said. Harry frowned; that wasn't what he meant and she knew it. 'Breakfast is on in the Hall. I suggest you go and get ready for the day.'

She turned her back on him to strip the sheets from the bed on which he'd slept, effectively closing the conversation.

Harry wandered out of the Wing, feeling more than a little disoriented at the matron's brusque treatment of him. He earned several odd glances as he made his way from the Hospital Wing to his room in Gryffindor Tower in bloodstained pyjamas, but on his internal radar they registered as unimportant.

He tore his clothes off as soon as he was safely inside his room to inspect the scars left by Draco's nails. Harry gave a low whistle; the tract of gashes on both sides was impressive, and wouldn't heal for a good few days by his guess.

'Cat,' he muttered, groping in his trunk for clean clothes and his Prefect badge. Once he was dressed, Harry threw the pyjamas in a corner, promising himself a new set after the next trip to Hogsmeade. Then he hurried down to the Great Hall.

He slid into his seat between Ron and Hermione, muttering 'Malfoy's back,' as he helped himself to food. Hermione glanced from him to the Slytherin table.

'I don't see him.'

'He's in the Hospital Wing.'

Ron almost choked on his egg. '_What_? Why's he there?'

'I took him there last night.' He saw the looks on their faces, and sighed. 'Somehow he got into my room and—'

'And you gave him what-for!' Ron said, grinning.

'No. Someone else already had. I don't know how he got in, but he was a mess and he was panicking.' Harry shrugged. 'So I took him to the Wing.' He grimaced, placing a hand on his side. 'He really, really didn't want to go.'

'What did he do?'

'Scratched me up a bit. No, Hermione, don't worry. It's all right, just hurts a little.'

Ron whistled, glancing again at the Slytherin table. 'Wonder where he's been?'

'And who with,' Harry muttered darkly. Hermione looked surprised.

'You're worried about him?'

'Yes.' Harry pushed his plate away, stretching and trying not to wince at the pain shooting along his torso. 'What do we have first up?'

'Potions,' Hermione said gloomily.

Harry scowled. 'Brilliant.' 

He glared across the room at the Potions Master. After the chaos following the Triwizard disaster, Harry had dared hope that Snape would become, if not warm, then at least civil in his lessons. He had realised by the end of the first lesson back that it wasn't to be, and the old enmity between the two of them had renewed itself with a passion.

*

If Snape had been informed about Draco's reappearance, he gave no sign of caring. The man loomed at the front of the classroom, barking instructions. His grim gaze swept the silent room, pausing as it passed over Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville in particular.

'Remember that the bryony root must be properly skinned and chopped, or the potion will explode in your face _and_, Mr Longbottom, you will be cleaning the mess up _before_ you go to the Hospital Wi—'

'Excuse me, Professor Snape?'

'—ng. Do I make myself clear? Yes, Madam Pomfrey?' The animosity in his gaze barely diminished as it shifted to consider the matron.

'Could I borrow one of your students, please? Harry Potter?'

Snape sneered, glancing back at Harry. 'Don't think for an instant that this gets you out of work, Potter. I expect the potion to be completed in your own time and handed in by tomorrow morning. Now get out.'

Harry did so, with as much speed as he could muster. Pomfrey closed the Potions room door and gestured for him to follow her. Harry found he had to trot to keep up.

'What's going on?'

'It's Malfoy. He's woken up, but he's being...difficult. Refuses to talk to anyone, among other things. He wants to see you.'

'Why me?'

'I don't know, but he was very adamant.'

Harry stared at her. 'If he's not talking to anyone, how could he say he wanted to see me?'

She handed him a torn piece of paper. Scrawled on it were two words:

_Get Potter._


	2. Them and Us

**Rating: R**

**Warnings: Coarse language, slash.**

**Disclaimer: To all lawyers, Warner Brothers employees, J. K. Rowling and anyone else who may choose to get offended about this borrowing of characters and setting: I am well aware they aren't mine. They're quite belligerent about that, to be honest. Nor will they show me how to play poker, or let me make any money from selling their stories. Yes…**

**Feedback: Welcome:**** All and sundry. Unwelcome: *crickets chirrup* *Draco swats crickets***

**Thanks To:** Wednesday, kristy, MiniMe, SophieB, Me, Penelope-Z, Sorceress Jade, Jessica (*Grins* Yes, I do rather like the tortured Draco archetype. He's a character who in canon has built up a great many walls to shield himself from the world, and I enjoy trying to get to the deeper layers. Best way to do that is throw a really big stone at the walls.), Jay, Demeter, Shukumei-of-another-world, Scratches (Heh. Here's more, right now. Just wasn't right then…), Accidental Human Contact, S. Maldiva (Who's beaten him? *Points at chapter below* There are one or two clues there. Actually finding the identities will take a while longer however. *Is still trying to work it out herself*), Blaze, Minna, Girlie-O, dreamsneak, faro, gentle reader (Watch out. I foresee many cliffhangers ahead.), K. Ashley, Savidana, darklites, Rhia (Am writing!)

Thanks to everyone for being so patient between exams. The Twelfth Chapter of All Torn Down is almost finished, and there may be more of this soon.__

**The Way of the Beast: Them and Us**

            '_I think life is more like the Monster game...and maybe one day everyone turns around and the real monster is there, and you know his name when you look in his face, because he's you.'_

                        —_The Monster Game, Isobelle Carmody.****_

            Draco was sitting up in bed, scribbling in a notebook, when Harry entered the Wing. He had been moved into a private room so that other students couldn't see him.

            Harry was moving fast as he came through the doorway, but slowed to a halt as he took in the surroundings. Draco watched him turn around slowly, digesting the torn pages littered across the room, the dented walls into which Draco had thrown the nearest movable object and occasionally himself. Let him see what it had taken to get him here. He dropped his gaze back to the notebook as Harry's eyes came to rest on him.

            There was silence for a good while as Harry stood watching him and Draco scribbled unconcernedly, pretending not to notice.

            'I hear you're not talking to anyone.'

            The pencil in Draco's hand stilled; it was the only indication that he was listening at all. He heard Harry take a step forward.

            'But they said you wanted to speak to me, is that right? Well, are you going to? Because if not, then I have a potion to brew...' Draco noted that despite his words Harry made no motion to leave the room. He began to draw again.

            'Fine. Your silence isn't worth the tirade I'm going to get from Snape if I don't have my work done—' Harry stepped backwards, but he paused when Draco's eyes rose, slowly, from the pad. They regarded each other for a moment before Draco's gaze reverted to the sketches in his lap.

            'Traitor.'

            'What was that?'

            Draco looked up again, staring at Harry calmly. 'Traitor,' he repeated.

            Harry paced forward to the bedside, his eyes lit with anger. 'What are you talking about? I helped you!'

            'No! No, no, no. You brought me here. I said no!'

            'Well, what else did you expect me to do? You showed up _in my room, and I'm sure you're going to have fun explaining that to me, late at night bleeding all over the place—what else was I supposed to do with you?'_

            'I said one night. Only to stay a night. I was going, I was going, but not _here!'_

            'Then wh—'

            'I trusted you! I trusted, and you, you...' Draco's eyes burned and stung. He hadn't wanted to become so angry, had thought to be stone, but...

            'You expected me to be a cat's paw,' Harry was saying. 'That's all it is, isn't it? You thought I'd take pity on you and do whatever you wanted. That's what all of this is! It's just you, and your stupid power games. You're playing for pity, seeing how much you can make people do—'

            Draco looked away, swaying slightly. He felt a hot droplet splash onto his hand. 'I'll call,' he muttered feverishly. 'I'll call, I'll call her, I'll call...'

            Harry shook a finger under his nose. 'Stop it! I know this is just an act. Make sense, Malfoy!'

            Draco stared up at him, lower lip trembling. _Hate this, hate this, so weak... 'I just wanted...' he shuddered. 'Just...help...'_

            Harry sat heavily on the bed, the anger in his eyes receding. 'That's all you can say?' he whispered. 'Just...just that you want help? God, what's happened to you?'

            The tears fell in earnest then, and all Draco could do was watch Harry watching him, and whimper. _Weak little child..._

            Harry looked first aghast, then sympathetic, as he stared at Draco. He bit his lip and, in a rush, leaned forward and drew Draco into a close embrace.

            Draco buried his face into Harry's shoulder, disregarding the pain registered via his injuries in favour of the warm comfort of contact with another person. He moved to place his hands on Harry's sides, felt the boy wince, and wrapped his arms tightly around the gracious boy's shoulders instead.

            Very slowly, he began to run out of tears. Draco twisted his head around to the side, still sniffling and shuddering. He stared at the pale expanse of skin before him, stretching down from Harry's neck to his shoulder, crossed by the black of his robe's collar. 

            Draco closed his eyes. He opened them. He leaned forward, not slowly but not fast enough to disturb Harry either, and pressed his lips against the soft skin.

            Harry jerked back out of the embrace, his eyes wide. 'W-what did you just do?'

            Draco stared at him, emotionless. 'Nothing,' he said. 'I did nothing at all.' He lay back and turned his face away, pulling the covers close about him.

            Silence. Then: 'Will you let Madam Pomfrey take care of you now?'

            Draco closed his eyes. 'Yes.'

            'All right.' He listened to Harry's footsteps moving away through the scattered papers.

            'Potter?'

            'Yes?'

            'Thank you.'

*

            In a daze, Harry rejoined Ron and Hermione on the way to Transfiguration, having missed the rest of the Potions lesson. Ron looked at him with an upturned eyebrow as they entered the classroom and sat down.

            'Are you okay? What was that about?'

            'Malfoy. He's, he's...' Harry sighed, trying to pull himself together. 'I'm starting to sound like him.'

            'What about Malfoy?'

            'He...isn't himself. I mean _really, he's completely...he can barely string together a clear sentence, and he's just—he just doesn't act like—'_

            'Do you think he's got some kind of brain damage?' Hermione ventured.

            'No. I asked Madam Pomfrey, but she says he's just traumatised. Traumatised! I can't think what could do that to him.'

            'I can't think what could make you so worried about him,' Ron muttered.

            Harry sighed. 'I...' he laughed. 'I can't believe I really want this, but I wish he would act the way he used to. We had a fight—'

            'Sounds like typical Malfoy to me.'

            'The worst he managed to call me was traitor, and he couldn't even justify that. Tried, but he just...couldn't. And he actually reacted to what I was saying, I mean, not like usual. It hurt him.'

            Hermione cast an odd look at Harry as Professor McGonagall entered the room. 'How do you know?'

            'I tend to think there's something wrong with a person when they start crying.'

            A slow grin began to spread across Ron's face. 'You made Malfoy cry?'

            'Don't,' Harry said shortly. 'It isn't funny.'

            'Quiet,' McGonagall said sharply from the front of the room. 'We'll be starting work on human transfigurations this week—theory first.' The class groaned, and the Professor's lips thinned, although it was difficult to tell whether it was out of suppressed amusement or irritation. 'Yes, I know you would all like to start waving your wands around and sprouting extra ears, but school policy--not to mention wizard law—demands that you know what you're doing first. Longbottom, I expect you to pay _very careful attention this semester._

            'Open your books at page thirty and read the next ten pages. I'll be setting a series of questions on the board for you to answer afterwards, and anything you haven't finished by the end of the lesson will be extra homework. Now get to work.'

            Under cover of the noise made by an entire year of Gryffindors reaching for, opening, and grumbling about their textbooks, Ron muttered, 'Well, why are you so worried? He's not your responsibility, Harry.'

            Harry was silent for a moment as he flipped through his book, biting his lip. 'Then why do I feel responsible for him?' He made an undignified and extremely annoyed noise. 'Why did he come to _me?'_

            Neither Ron nor Hermione had an answer for him.

*

            The question gnawed at Harry's mind for the rest of the day, and eventually he relented and went back to the Hospital Wing while Hermione dragged Ron to the library. Draco's temporary room had been cleared of most of the paper that had covered the floor—or rather; it had been pushed out of the way to the edges of the room. Draco was sitting up in bed, still drawing in his notebook, and looking visibly better though a larger portion of him was bound up in plaster and bandages. Harry wondered why Madam Pomfrey didn't use magic to heal him.

            Draco looked up at his entrance. 'Hello.'

            'Hello,' Harry said. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. 'Can I ask you something?'

            Draco stared at him blankly a moment before nodding.

            'Why did you come to me last night? What did I ever do to deserve your trust?'

            'Trust...' Draco put down his pencil and stared at his wand hand, running a finger along a jagged scar that crossed his palm. 'Harry Potter. You're Harry Potter.'

            'I don't understand. You came to me...because of who I am?'

            'Good, honourable. Harry Potter.' 

            Harry had the feeling that Draco was deliberately hedging against his questions. He leaned down until his eyes met Draco's dull grey. 'Who did this to you?'

            Malfoy blinked and a shudder passed through his body. 'Mudblood,' he whispered.

            'What?' Harry felt a rush of anger at the foul word. 'You had better not be talking about Hermione, because I know she wouldn't—'

            'Mudblood,' Draco repeated. 'Mudblood and a Muggle.'

            'You're kidding,' Harry whispered. 'Who would dare do something like that to you?' Draco was silent, so Harry tried another tack. 'Why did they do it?'

            Draco closed his eyes. 'Because Father's Death Eater. And I would be. And because—because they found out—' His eyes flashed open, glistening with unshed tears. He stared through Harry, whimpering softly.

            'Ssh. Draco, calm down. It's all right, they aren't here now.' Harry watched the boy's struggle against his emotions, played out in his eyes. Draco gulped, slowly focusing on Harry, who leaned forward slightly. 'Why else?'

            Draco shook his head, drawing his legs up and locking his arms about them. 'Won't tell. _Can't tell you that.'_

            'Why not?' Draco just shook his head, and Harry sighed. 'You're impossible, Malfoy.' He turned to leave, and felt Draco's nails latching desperately into his wrist.

            'Don't go. He—he was here. He knows—'

            Harry stared back at him, aghast. 'He? The—the Muggle-born? He knows where you are?' He sat down again, and Draco relinquished his hold. 'That's why you didn't want to come here.'

            Draco nodded.

            'But how could he know where you were? I only told Ron and Hermione, and they wouldn't have—no, don't look at me like that, they wouldn't have told anyone else. Even if it was about you.'

            Draco looked away from him, staring pensively at a spot on the floor. 'Ears listen. Walls talk.'

            Harry's eyes narrowed. 'Are you saying he overheard us? But that would mean--was he a Gryffindor? Draco?'

            The only reply was a half-hearted shrug. Harry bit his lip. His voice was very low when he spoke again: 'What did he do while he was in here?'

            'Watched. Just...watched and laughed, a bit. And, and, tore...' Draco pointed at the mess of paper at the edges of the room. 'Tore some, and took some away. Said he'd burn...'

            Harry growled. 'He _should burn,' he said, knowing that Draco was trying to say something entirely different. To his amazement, the pale Slytherin winced at the venom in his voice. 'What's wrong? Did they talk like that? Sorry...' He patted Draco's arm gingerly. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.'_

            Draco stared at his hand, expressionless. But his own arm swung around as Harry began to withdraw, clasping hold and squeezing Harry's fingers a little. 'I know.' He rested his chin on his knees, closing his eyes.

            Harry withdrew his hand suddenly and stood up. 'I should probably go now,' he muttered. 'Draco, do you know how the Muggle-born got in here?'

            'Errand.' Harry took a second to extrapolate that out into _'He told Pomfrey he was on an errand'._

            'All right. I'll ask Madam Pomfrey not to let anyone in here alone with you from now on, okay?'

            'Except you,' Draco whispered.

            'Yes. All right. Except me, right.' Harry stumbled out of the room. He folded his arms tightly against his chest, drowning the remaining warmth of Draco's touch with his own body heat.

            Madam Pomfrey was tending to a third year Hufflepuff who'd got in the way of one of Hagrid's monstrous charges, but she turned at the sound of his none-too-quiet passage through the wing. 'Potter, wait a moment, please.'

            Harry did so, standing near the back wall of the room, his eyes skirting occasionally to the doorway leading back to Draco's chamber. He'd neglected to shut the door properly, and could see a triangle of floorboards edged with notepaper beyond the frame.

            'How is he?' Harry glanced up at Madam Pomfrey, not having noticed her approach him. She looked drawn and worried.

            'You don't know?'

            'I know how he is physically. But he still won't say a word to me, or anyone else I send in there. I heard the two of you talking about something, though. You're the only one he seems to respond to.'

            'That can't be good.'

            'No, it isn't. I can't get any idea of what he's feeling, and that's as important as healing his physical injuries—perhaps more so.'

            'Well, he—he doesn't make much sense. He'll say a string of words, and you can _see him trying to make you understand. And I think he sees things, sometimes. Like when he gets upset, it's as though the memories jump out of his head...'_

            'Has he let you see any of his pictures?'

            'Sorry?'

            'The pictures he draws in that notebook. He hasn't let you see them?' Harry shook his head, and she sighed. 'You've seen all those bits of paper he threw on the floor? The pictures on every one of them have been shaded out: for his eyes only, apparently.'

            'You're really worried, aren't you?'

            She hesitated in answering, obviously unwilling to admit defeat. 'Yes. I am. Will you come to see him whenever you can? I can't work properly if I don't have some idea of what's going on in that head.'

            Harry nodded slowly. 'I already promised him the same thing, sort of.'

            'Thank you.' She began to turn away, and Harry bit his lip.

            'Madam Pomfrey,' he said. 'How many other people have seen him?'

            She looked back over her shoulder. 'Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and a few of the students have been in. Why?'

            'He...he told me who beat him. Well, sort of described him a bit. Draco said he was in here today. Said he told you he was running an errand.'

            Pomfrey paled. 'Most of the students I let through were on an errand of some kind. What did he look like?'

            Harry shrugged. 'I only know he was Muggle-born. That's all Draco would say. I was wondering whether you could sort of shut him off, not let other people see him, to keep it from happening again.'

            Pomfrey smiled wearily. 'I can't stop any of the professors from going in there, Harry. But I'll make sure you're the only student who sees him. If anyone has an errand to run, I'll tell them to go back and get the teacher to do it for them.'

            Harry nodded. 'Good.'

            'Good evening, Potter.'

            'Evening...?' Harry blinked. 'Is it that late?'

            'Look out the window, dear. The sun set about ten minutes ago.'

            Harry almost swore, remembering who he was with barely in time. 'I told Hermione and Ron that I'd meet them in the library! They'll _kill me!'_

            'Then I'd run if I were you.'

            Harry tore out of the Hospital Wing, cursing himself, and raced towards the library, hoping against hope that Ron and Hermione had waited for him. He almost tripped over Mrs Norris as he rounded a corner; the cat hissed at him and leapt away, probably going to complain to Filch. Harry barrelled on, almost knocking Ron down as he skidded to a halt in front of them outside the library doors. Hermione raised her eyebrows, quite obviously fighting the urge to laugh.

            'Sorry I'm late,' he panted. 'I didn't—think—it was so—late. Sorry!'

            'What's to be sorry about?' Ron said, glaring at Hermione. 'All she wanted was for us to help her find books on some Runes-thing I've never heard of.' 

            Hermione rolled her eyes at him. 'Forgive me for wanting to do well in my exams. How did it go, Harry?'

            Harry opened his mouth, then realised he didn't know what to say. He shrugged. 'I'm not sure. I think he made a little more sense—either that or I'm getting used to gibberish, which isn't a good sign—but he wouldn't give me a straight answer when I asked him. He told me a few other things, but not what I wanted.'

            'What did he say?'

            'That he was beaten by a Mu—' Harry almost used the epithet Draco was so fond of, and checked himself barely in time: '—ggle-born and a Muggle, Gods only know who. He thinks they did it because of, you know...his father, and everything.'

            'You're kidding! A Muggle-born and a _Muggle?' Ron was flabbergasted. 'Can you imagine how far away they'd have had to take him? How did he manage to get away?'_

            'Don't know. But I don't think they did take him very far; he was still bleeding when he woke me.'

            'Harry, does he still have his wand?' Hermione interjected suddenly. He stared at her.

            'No, he doesn't.' Harry's eyes widened. 'So he couldn't have been far away at all—he had no way of casting a spell to get back.'

            'Or to get into your room,' she said, biting her lip. 'Wonder how he managed that?' She smiled, reassuring, at the look on Harry's face. 'Don't worry. Professor Dumbledore's probably having it all investigated, so you won't have to bother about him any more.'

            'Yes, I will. I promised Draco and Madam Pomfrey that I'd keep looking in on him.'

            Ron blinked. 'You what? You don't _have to, you know.'_

            'No, but I want to. I want to know what's happened and I want to see him back the way he was, and—' Harry screwed his face up in frustration. 'I want to know why the bloody hell he picked me to come to!'

            There was a brief, edgy silence, which folded like paper as Ron began to laugh. Harry relaxed, looking sheepish.

            'Well, it's true. So far I haven't understood a thing he's told me.'

            'You're a piece of work, Harry,' Ron chuckled. 'Do you have any idea how much he's going to owe you when he gets out of the Infirmary?'

            'If he'll just tell me the answer to that question, I'll consider all debts paid. I don't understand why he's so stubborn about it.'

            'Well, never mind,' Hermione said, wryly. 'You'll have plenty of chances to ask later. Let's go see how much of dinner is left.'

            Most of the other students had already taken their share of food, but there was still plenty left for the three of them. Harry privately observed that since Hermione's S.P.E.W. escapade in the fourth year, the house elves had seemed even more eager to serve than ever before.

            Ron and Hermione chattered as they ate, but Harry remained quiet. Images kept flashing through his mind: Draco's eyes as he stared up at Harry and pleaded not to go to the Hospital Wing; the appallingly light form curled in his arms as he carried Draco to the Wing; the helpless tears he'd shed in the aftermath of their argument that morning...

            ...Somewhere, behind it all, two shadowy figures loomed in his imagination, waiting to be unmasked.

            _A Muggle and a Muggle-born did it. Someone on our side..._

            When Harry dragged himself up Gryffindor Tower and tumbled into bed that night, his dreams were fraught with a monstrous Them which constantly shape-shifted into one of Us.


	3. Beast in Hiding

**Rating: R**

**Warnings: Coarse language, slash. That's it, as far as I know.**

**Disclaimer: To all lawyers, Warner Brothers employees, J. K. Rowling and anyone else who may choose to get offended about this borrowing of characters and setting: I am well aware they aren't mine. They're quite belligerent about that, to be honest. Nor will they show me how to play poker, or let me make any money from selling their stories.******

**Feedback: Welcome: All and sundry. Unwelcome: *crickets chirrup* *Draco swats crickets*******

**Thanks To: Myr, Darklites (Yes, the fear of being unable to tell a friend from a foe is something that Harry's going to have to face a lot in this story—and so will Draco.), K. Ashley, S. Maldiva (*Grins* No, it certainly wasn't any of the staff. Justin Finch-Fletchley?...Interesting idea. We'll see…), ailsinjiin, Demeter, ame_chan, cattail prophetess (Dean? Mm…could be, but I don't think so at this point.), Remy (*Grins* Those are some interesting nominations. What do you think could have driven Hermione or Neville to do that to Draco?), Azzie, Scratches, SophieB (You find out what Draco's been drawing in this chapter. Yes, this is probably going to get pretty dark. There are all sorts of ideas I have jumping up and down for attention, and I'm not sure how many I'll wind up using, but they seem to be mainly from the breed Macabre, unfortunately. ^^; We'll have to wait and see how things pan out.), Rhia, Kain Lorhem (The last line in Chapter 2 seemed to echo something I'd heard before when I put it down, but I certainly wasn't using a deliberate reference there. Which piece of Kipling's writing were you thinking of?), …?, Flair, Blaze (Wow. Yes, you're very much on the right trail, I think, particularly about the outside force.), Kawaiikowaikoneko, Caithion, razor-flavoured candy (Don't worry, I have no intention of leaving this story unfinished any more than I do of leaving All Torn Down in the middle of a sentence. It's just…going…to…take…a while. ^^;), liz, Sheron.**

**The Way of the Beast: Beast in Hiding**

_I climbed into the wardrobe with my nightmares..._

            —_ Roaches, Isobelle Carmody_

            When Harry went back to the Hospital Wing after lessons the next day, he found Madam Pomfrey washing her arms in a deep basin. As he stepped toward her, she said, 'I wouldn't go in there today.'

            Harry paused. 'Why?'

            'He's ferocious.' She shook her hands out of the water and reached for a bottle of ointment. There were small red lines coursing down the entire length of her forearms. Harry's eyebrows rose. 

            'Any idea why?'

            'I was trying to get him out of that bed, to see how much he can move around. I've hardly been able to look at some of his—' she barely hesitated— 'lower injuries, and I want to see how they're affecting him.' She began to dab handfuls of the ointment on her arms, and the cuts slid smoothly closed.

            Harry whistled. 'Still a little manipulator, isn't he?'

            'I don't categorise students like that, Potter. I only have patients: good ones and difficult ones. He's a difficult one.'

            He grinned. 'Which am I?'

            'You? Oh, you're an exception. If I had anyone else to help me around here, we'd bet on how many times you'd turn up each year.'

            'That's not fair.'

            'True, though. Are you going to try your phenomenal luck or not?'

            'I think I will. Do you have any nail scissors?' Madam Pomfrey pointed to a cupboard a few feet away, and he crossed the floor, opening the door and trying to look through the contents without sending it into complete disarray. 'Thanks.'

            'Since you're going in, could you do me a favour?'

            'Hmm?'

            'Here.' She handed him a lidded cup filled with a frothy, off-white mixture. 'His body's too weak to take anything really solid yet, but he needs some sort of sustenance.'

            Harry took it and, nodding and smiling at Madam Pomfrey, he went into Draco's room. The smile evaporated from his face as he closed the door and turned around. Harry glared at Malfoy, ignoring the way the other boy was curled up near the head of the bed, and the wary look he'd thrown at the door. 

            'You little rotter.' Draco's eyes flickered with confusion as he made his way across the room. 'What did you do that for? She was only trying to do her job, for Heaven's sake! You know, I don't really care any more about you scratching me, but when you start on someone like Madam Pomfrey—'

            'Scratch?' Draco's eyes flickered again. 'Scratch you?'

            Harry sat on the bed, glowering. 'Yes, but it doesn't matter; you were panicking then. But don't you dare—'

            'Show me.'

            '—Hurt Madam Pomfrey again. What?'

            'Show me,' Draco repeated, frowning.

            Harry stared at him. 'The marks are under my robes. It was when you came into my room, remember?'

            'Oh.' Draco raised a finger to point at Harry's side. 'Hurt?'

            'Not any more.'

            Draco chewed his lip. An obvious struggle was taking place somewhere behind his eyes, and Harry watched his indecision with fascination. Eventually he grimaced and mumbled, 'Sorry.'

            Harry blinked, his eyebrows rising into his hairline. Draco glanced away and began to fidget with the sheets. He looked up again after a moment, only to see Harry still staring at him. His lower lip jutted out slightly in a defensive pout. '_What!'_

            Harry shook his head quickly. 'Nothing. It doesn't matter. Why did you do that to Madam Pomfrey?'

            Draco waved vaguely at the door. 'Wanted to see—'

            '—How well you could move about, yes. She told me that. And some of your injuries...' The word 'lower' connected with the embarrassed look on Draco's face, and Harry's eyebrows rose again, this time in realisation. 'Oh! Oh. You mean you didn't want her to see you—' Draco nodded. 'I see. Um. Well, I guess I can understand that, but did you have to do all of _that to her?' A roll of the shoulders. 'But look, hold on. She'd already have—no, look Malfoy, how do you think you got into that hospital shirt?'_

            Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as he watched Draco's eyes go wide, his lip mince under his teeth and his face turn deep crimson. The only flush he'd seen on Malfoy's face before was one of fury. Draco's chin dropped as he fought to regain control of himself, and he looked resentfully up at Harry. 'Traitor.'

            Harry batted the insult away. 'I'm not and you know it. Now here...' He lifted the nail scissors. 'You're not setting those nails on anyone else. Give me your hand.'

            Draco did so, reluctantly, but without fighting, and watched silently as Harry snipped away at the dirty nails. He flexed each finger as the sheared slivers fell onto the mattress and Harry moved on to the next, and smiled a little when Harry glanced up through his fringe.

            'I bet this is what it's like for you at home, isn't it? People waiting hand and foot on you all day...'

            'No.' Draco held up his left hand as the final nail on the right fell away.

            'No?'

            Draco shrugged. 'Clean, cook, message. That's all.'

            Harry bit his lip, trying to iron some sense into that. _Servants. He must mean the servants only cook, clean and run messages. Right. Gods, I wonder what sort of messages are run around that place?_

            The last nail tumbled to the mattress and Harry put the scissors down. Draco prodded at his arm, trying to press the tips of his nails into Harry's skin—it didn't work. A soft noise that might have been a chuckle bubbled from his mouth. Harry smiled at his mirth.

            'Why aren't you always like this?' Draco looked up, questioning. 'Usually you're so cold—so easy to hate. But now, when you've got your defences down...well, you're almost likeable. Why can't you always be like that?'

            Draco's reaction wasn't what he expected. The amusement in his expression melted and Harry saw just the edge of sharp pain in his eyes as he glanced away. His hand dropped away from Harry's arm to twist in the sheets. Draco stared at its movements dully, fringe curtaining his eyes.

            Harry leaned forward. 'What's wrong?'

            Draco didn't respond for a long time and when he did, his words were so low and close after one another that at first Harry wasn't certain he was really speaking at all.

            '...stupidweakweakidiotstupidlittlesodIhate, I hate....so weak, weak little child...' Draco's shoulders began to quake, but the litany continued, relentless.

            'Draco...' He swayed away from the comforting hand that Harry tried to place on his shoulder. 'This is about more than what they did to you, isn't it?' Draco's head ducked in a brief nod, fingers tightening in the folds of fabric. A tear left a darkened patch by his hand.

            'Oh no, not this again...Draco, look at me. Come on, just look _up. Don't cry. Stop talking like that, please...Draco...' He lifted Draco's chin with his hand, trying to look into the grey eyes that flickered away, staring over his head or past his shoulder; anywhere but directly at him. Draco's mouth quivered and another droplet leaked from his eye._

            'Don't do that, Malfoy. Don't be like that. What's this about? What did I say wrong?' Harry raised a hand to brush away the tears, but Draco scrambled back, dashing his hand against his face. Harry gave a frustrated growl. 'Why won't you let anyone help you? Isn't that what you want?'

            'Shouldn't. Mustn't be like this.' Draco closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Harry relaxed a little; it looked as though he was calming down. 'So _weak...'_

            'Stop saying that,' Harry snapped. Draco's eyes flickered open, razed with reproach and hurt. They stared at each other tensely. 'Is that really what you think of yourself?'

            Draco glanced away, but Harry placed a hand on his arm before he could start up again. He had no idea why, but he seemed calmer when he felt human contact. 'Is it, Draco?'

            A faint answer: 'Yes.'

            'Why do you think that?'

            'True...'

            'No it isn't.'

            Malfoy looked up, eyes flashing. '_Is! Everyone says, everyone __thinks...'_

            'No, they don't. I don't think that about you.'

            'Liar.'

            Harry wanted very much to argue that point, but the flatness in Draco's voice told him it would be pointless. He stayed silent, waiting for Malfoy to make the next move.

            Draco dropped his gaze again, but this time it was to look for something under his pillow. He pulled out a notebook—it was a new one; most of the pages were still there—and searched through until he came upon a blank page, which he tore out. Harry watched him gather the fallen nails onto the paper. Draco folded them into the page carefully, creasing the paper over three times. He handed it out to Harry.

            'Keep.'

            'Why?' Harry tried to push his hand away. 'They're your nails.'

            'Keep,' Draco said, more insistently. He pressed the paper into Harry's hand. He still hadn't met his eyes. Harry sighed.

            'All right, but I don't understand at all...' Harry pocketed the scrap of paper. He looked down at the notepad, noticing raised edges on the paper where Draco had pressed the pencil down particularly hard in his drawing. 'Can I look?'

            He wasn't really expecting any answer at all, so he was surprised when Draco, after hugging the book to himself for a second while chewing his lip, held it out. His fingers slipped away quickly as Harry took it, and he sat back, arms folded, to watch.

            Harry flipped the paper over. His eyes widened. 'Wow...these are good.'

            'Liar,' Draco said, but he sounded uncertain.

            'No, I mean it.' Harry traced over the sketches, smiling. The shapes, and the subject matter, were oddly childish, but the strokes and shades of the pencil were set down with a kind of familiarity, as though Draco had known what he wanted to do by heart. Harry pointed at a picture of an obese beast with comically small wings, trying with all its might to launch itself into the air. 'The shading here is really good, so smooth...'

            Draco smiled, leaning forward to run a finger over the vignette. 'Like watching...dark to light.'

            'What's it called?'

            'Brundlegog.'

            'What sort of creature is that?'

            Draco sighed. 'Made up.'

            'Really?' Harry looked up. 'I thought wizards didn't make-believe things like that. I mean, I thought you wouldn't need to...'

            Draco looked at his hands. 'Not _supposed to.'_

            'Oh.' Harry looked at the sketch again. 'I'm sorry.'

            'Shouldn't. Stupid, stupid...' 

            Harry tapped him sharply on the arm. 'Don't start that again. It's good.' He glanced sideways at Draco, testing the water. 'If it makes you happy, I think you _should draw things like this.'_

            Gaining no response, he turned the page to reveal a larger, though incomplete, picture of two figures entwined in each other's arms, the oval faces pressed together as though in a kiss. Harry blinked in surprise.

            'Draco...'

            'Mmm?'

            'Are you going to finish this one?' Draco glanced at the picture and shrugged. 'I hope so. It's...sweet.'

            Malfoy leaned forward, suddenly interested. 'Like?' Harry nodded. Draco looked again at the lovers. 'Want?'

            Harry stared at him. Draco's eyes had lit up a little with something akin to hope. He nodded slowly. 'Yeah, I would, if you're going to finish it.'

            Draco grinned, and Harry was taken aback by the genuine happiness on his face. He'd _never seen Malfoy smile like that before, with no malicious scheme behind it._

            He looked again at the picture, pursing his lips. 'You might want to, you know, flesh them out a bit, though,' he said carefully, loathe to destroy Draco's good mood. 'You can't really tell which one's the boy and which is the girl...'

            Malfoy nodded, but his smile became fixed and something flickered in his eyes. Harry wondered what he'd said wrong this time, but Draco snatched the book from him before he could say anything. Harry watched him rifle through the pages toward the back until he found what he was looking for. Draco's hands trembled slightly as he gave the notebook back, but his gaze on Harry was unwavering and intense.

            Most of the page was blackened out by the dark shading, and Harry could see the sharp, sweeping movements Draco had made with his pencil; in some places it looked as if the tip had almost punctured through the paper. It took him a moment to work out that in the white space left was the silhouette of an elongated, sneering face. Grey patches like pockmarks were scattered over its surface, melding into the darkness along the cheekbones. He looked up at Draco and back at the picture. There was something about the other boy's sudden tenseness that he didn't like at all.

            'Who is this?'

            'Mudblood.'

            'Muggle-born,' Harry corrected. Draco clenched his teeth.

            'Mudblood. Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood....'

            'If you don't stop swearing I'll leave.'

            Draco's mouth closed with a snap. It opened again after a second: 'I hate you.'

            'Then you won't care if I just go, will you?' Harry stood, already half-turned away. Draco's hand immediately latched onto his wrist and when Harry looked back his eyes were pleading. Harry almost pulled out of his grasp and walked away, not liking that Draco seemed to think he could be made to stay according to his own whims. He didn't, though, returning to his perch on the bed with a sigh. 'Why won't you let anyone try to help you?'

            Draco's hand tightened around his arm, and Harry knew what was going to come out of his mouth as it opened. He pulled out of Draco's grasp and shook his finger at him. 'Don't start that again.'

            ''S true.'

            'No, it's not. Listen to me. It _isn't weak to ask for help when you need it.'_

            Draco gave a snort. 'You...you, you. Don't know.'

            'Don't know what, Malfoy?'

            'Me. Them.' The boy gritted his teeth, and pointed at his bandages. 'These, and—and _world, and—anything!' His hands moved suddenly to shove Harry back from the bed; his fists and face both clenched, and Harry couldn't see whether it was in resentment or anguish. 'Don't know!'_

            'Oh, really?' Harry leaned over Malfoy, feeling sparks go off behind his eyes. 'Just a Muggle with a wand, is that what you think I am? I'd rather be that than a bloody spoiled little brat like you!' Draco flinched; Harry didn't care. 'What do you really know about the world? You've spent your life surrounded by family and friends and wealth—I bet all this is the first time you've ever really been scared, isn't it? Try sleeping under the stairs for eleven years and being your cousin's favourite punching bag, then you'll get some idea—'

            It dawned on Harry that he was holding onto Draco by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the hospital shirt. The boy stared up at him, mouth agape and eyes churning with terror. He was trembling visibly. Harry drew a deep breath and relinquished him. He sat back and watched Draco try to regain control without resorting to tears again.

            'I'm sorry,' he muttered. 'I didn't mean to go off the deep end like that.'

            Malfoy shook his head, not looking at him. 'Deserve it.'

            'Don't say that.'

            For a second Harry saw an echo of the same sneer that had kept their enmity so keen over the years. 'Don't say, do say. No Potter, yes Potter.' He scowled. 'Deserve it.'

            The boy's tone dared him to deny it again. Harry sighed. 'Is there anything we can talk about that won't get you into this state?' He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words were out. Draco's hands clenched tight and deep-set anger boiled in his eyes, but what was worse was the trembling of his lip as he fought to hold back a sob. Harry took hold of one of his hands. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that—no, I didn't, Draco. Listen to me. It's over; whatever happened to you, it's gone now. Can't you just let it go, and stop letting yourself be hurt by everything?' A swift shake of the head. 'Why not?'

            Draco drew a breath; Harry could see him concentrating on the order and sense of the words he spoke:

            'It's all still here.'

            'Here?'

            'Everywhere.'

            'Everywhere as in…what? Inside you, in your mind?'

            'There, and…' Draco gestured at his bandages and around at the rest of the room. '_Everywhere.' His eyes strayed to the notebook. 'They...can still get to me...'_

            'So you're just going to stay here and be afraid? That's not like you. The only person I've ever seen you run from is Vo—is that thing we saw in the Forbidden Forest in first year.' Draco didn't say a word. Harry gave up. He held up the cup Madam Pomfrey had given him. 'You're supposed to drink this.'

            Draco took the lid from the cup and drank cautiously. His cheek puckered, giving evidence of the concoction's unpleasant taste, but he didn't actually grimace or complain. When he was done, he put the empty cup down on a bedside table and folded his arms, plucking at the cloth covering some horrific scar.

            'Don't do that,' Harry said automatically. Draco's expression darkened and he continued to pull at the threads of the bandages. Harry rolled his eyes. 'If you didn't put up such a fuss, Madam Pomfrey could heal you with magic and you wouldn't need the bandages at all.'

            'She won't.'

            'Sorry?'

            'Use magic. She won't.'

            'What?' Harry was nonplussed. 'But why would she do things so slowly?'

            Draco shrugged. 'Maybe so I can stay here. Stay until...I don't need to be afraid any more.'

            Harry stared at him. 'You could be right. That actually made perfect sense.'

            Draco blinked, and turned his gaze to the ceiling. 'It…hurts,' he said after a moment. 'To make thoughts make sense.'

            'Why?'

            'Because...They aren't—won't—' He growled in frustration. 'No sense, nonsense. Flashes, words, smells...pictures...' Draco grimaced. 'Why do you fight?'

            Harry blinked at the sudden change of subject, but didn't try to press it. He plucked at the sheets, trying to find the words to reply. 'What do you mean?'

            'Muggles...' Draco waved one hand vaguely. 'Cupboard, cousin, punching bag...so why do you fight?'

            'You mean the fight against Voldemort, don't you?'

            'Against us.'

            Harry glanced sharply up, but Draco's eyes were still closed. 'What do you mean? You're not a—' He reached automatically for Draco's wrists to check for the Dark Mark, but the boy seemed to sense his approach and slapped him away.

            'No! Not. Wouldn't be...one of _those...' He flinched at something unseen._

            'Try not to think about it.'

            'Can't. It's everywhere...' Draco's grey irises flashed into sight. 'Answer me?' His voice was as ragged as the night he'd appeared and he stared desperately up at Harry.

            'I...I just...' He bit his lip. 'You just can't let someone like that win. Not ever. I mean...he killed my parents. He's killed countless people, most of them were defenceless, and—and that shouldn't be allowed to happen. Things like that, and this—' He gestured at Draco's injuries. '—It shouldn't happen.'

            Draco pointed at himself. 'Happened.'

            'It shouldn't happen,' Harry repeated. 'Not on either side.'

            'Why does it?'

            Harry shrugged, feeling useless, and not liking the way Draco was looking at him, waiting patiently for an answer. 

They were interrupted by a soft tap at the door before he managed to say anything. Madam Pomfrey poked her head into the room. 'It's getting late. You should leave soon, Potter.'

            Harry nodded, and the door closed again. He turned back to Draco.

            'I'm not coming back for two days.' Draco began to protest, but Harry held up a hand and he fell silent. 'I mean it. I have other things I need to be doing, and it's not good for you to rely on me coming here—don't look at me like that. I was the one who had to see that you were fed today, remember? When I come back, I want to see you cooperating with Madam Pomfrey. Otherwise I'll leave again, for longer.'

            His words had the desired effect, more or less. For a second, Draco looked unspeakably upset. He recovered a little and grew angry, then recovered some more and gave a resigned nod.

            'Fine. Don't need you.'

            'Prove it.' Harry stood, but a hand caught at his wrist before he could walk away. He looked back as Draco pressed the folded notepaper carrying his nails into Harry's hand.

            'Keep,' he muttered, eyes lowered. 

            Harry grinned, and his fingers tightened around the parcel. 'I only forgot.'

            Draco looked up with a timidity that threw Harry off-balance. 'Can we...' He swallowed, abruptly clamming up with a shake of his head.

            'What is it, Draco?'

            The boy bit his lip. Harry could almost see the words being painstakingly lined up and marched out of his mind. 'I...asked you this once before. You didn't want it then...'

            'Go on.'

            Draco held out his hand. 'Friend?'

            Harry remained immobile for a second before he collected himself. He clasped Draco's hand, and nodded, watching the relieved smile spread over his face. Then he walked away.


End file.
